Jana Lida
Before She said she wanted a girl. She was always so disappointed she didn’t have a girl. A beautiful baby girl who she could name after her sister who died, and not after the good-for-nothing, useless man who had left her pregnant and killed her sister. If anything, it would have been fantastic had he not been born at all, girl or not all she would be able to see would be his face. All she would be able to see was the look on his face when Jana was struck down. A grin. (He’d recognized her.) No remorse. (He knew who she was, knew because he came over every day and saw her outside before coming in to meet…) None at all, not for the only aunt of his unborn child. Story Time “Momma, tell me a story.” Her hands are like claws around the boy, stroking his brown hair desperately in need of a cut. (He looks so much like his father.) Shit. He doesn’t know whether or not he should fear her hands, for every once in a while they catch a clump of hair, and he does fear that they’ll rip the hair from his scalp. “Once upon a time there was a girl who thought she had everything. She was eighteen years old, and she was foolish enough to think that she was in love. She told her sister, Jana, every day, only thirteen at the time…” “Momma, am I Jana?” The voice that returns his innocent question is ice cold. “No. Jana is dead. You are an imposter.” 129th Games She would actually be watching this time. Because this time, among all the others, was the one time she actually wanted someone to die. He knew this. Of this he was certain. Eighteen years old and he’d held it off this long. Eighteen, of course now would be his time. He wondered if she’d volunteered him, he didn’t doubt that. He’d heard the story thousands of times, how he would like up to Jana’s selfless act to save his mother. (No one knew she had been pregnant. No one but Him and Jana. She and Him were supposed to be the ones in the games.) (Jana sacrificed herself.) (Jana and He died together.) And now it was his turn to go. A tribute to Jana. A tribute to Him. (He didn’t bother with weapons, didn’t bother, he knew he was just going to die anyway.) The mountainside was cold. Cold. Cold. He hid away. He scratched his days on the wall of a cave. It was a girl from District 1 that had saved him. Saved him by coming in, furs on her body and a knife in her hand, by trying to kill him. He was certain she was watching, certain he was cheering on the girl in furs, certain that she cried for his death. He killed her first, and with that, he was saved. Exciting his mountain cave, he met and fought, and then he hid until he needed to fight again. He wanted to live. No alliances. He wanted to live, and shove that in her face that no one would be sacrificing themselves for her anymore. So certain was he, on that last day, the avalanche was no accident. At the bottom of the mountain, he met with one more. (A girl.) He met with one more. (A girl from District 4, a girl he knew. She was thirteen. She was more Jana than he.) He killed her. He won. One More Thing When he’d come home, he was dressed in the richest of clothes. His hair, having grown out, was curled elegantly. He was wearing a dress, the finest of fabrics. She met him with a rolling pin. She tried to kill him. He’s subdued her, speaking sweet apologies into her ear, promising that, if she’d let him, he could actually take care of her now. She didn’t care. Promising her that she could have his home in the Victor’s section, that she could have her hatred, he would take it. So much more greedy than he pegged her to be, she agreed. He went fishing in his dress and wig that day. Smiling, he fixed her a plate. Smiling, he added something extra. Over the kitchen table, they discussed how stupid he was, what a cold and horrible person he was. And when she bit into the fish, Jana’s mother died. And Jana just smiled and ate on. (An accident, he claimed later, he didn’t realize that she’d eaten bad fish.)